


Oh Baby, I'll Be Back On My Feet Someday.

by TheatricallyColorful



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M, Never again, OH GOD WHY, Other, Tony Feels, What possessed me to write this, break ups, this is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheatricallyColorful/pseuds/TheatricallyColorful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is a broken heap, Loki is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Baby, I'll Be Back On My Feet Someday.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Melanie Martinez's songs on the Voice: Bulletproof, Hit The Road Jack, Lights and Toxic. I wrote this in school, so many apologies.

He swears he’ll see it coming next time.

If he’s ever stupid to allow a second time to come true.

When he regains his common sense, he will never do this again. Never indulge in the addictingly poisonous fruit that is Loki Odinson.

He will be bulletproof.

Hopefully.

It’s been weeks, or months really, since he’s last touched Loki. Months since he’s let himself be used, a hormone-pumped rag doll only for the pleasure of the Norse god.

He wouldn’t go so far to say that he was okay without Loki, but he was working on it.

It could’ve been love, he muses regretfully. What they had could’ve bloomed into love and the world would watch in awe as they flourished together, two jagged pieces fitting perfectly.

Or, two mirror pieces painted in different colors.

But Loki adamantly refused to give up his misdeeds, the mischief that gave him purpose and direction. Tony was loath to call himself a superhero, but he enjoyed the hero worship, the adrenaline that comes with swooping in and saving a life, sparing them from Death’s icy clutches.

Tony didn’t want, didn’t need Loki to change. He was perfect as he was. But their opposite roles in society strangled any chance of love.

He really loved Loki, oh that much was true.

But...

Tony had limits, contrary to popular belief. He could only take so much before he broke again, this time in pieces small they couldn't be put back together.

And so he builds armor. Bigger, better Iron Man suits, and emotional armor to keep his heart locked away in a metal box, away from cool fingers that would just eventually pull his heart out of his socket.

He locks himself away from the rest of the Avengers, a sort of self-exile, because he knew that they knew the secret he tried to keep.

He tries to make the world a better place again, works on clean energy,  _obsesses with perfection, because he's had a taste and he be damned if it's denied to him again-_

His music cuts off and he looks up from his work, an engine that he thinks could run on literal vapors if he just figures a few things out. Bruce is there, offering him a cup of coffee and two slices of pizza, the first nourishment he's had in twenty odd hours. JARVIS has been reminding him, sure, but he can't tear his eyes off his work long enough to leave it.

Bruce is concerned. He can see it in the man's nervous posture, and worried expression. He plasters on a grin, and shoves all negativity away in some drawer in the mystic cabinet that is his mind, because that's what he's good at. He probably could've taken Hollywood in the palm of his hand if he tried.

"Tony..." Bruce begins, unsure of what to say. Should he say,  _I know you miss your insane god (or is he your boyfriend?) but it's best for everyone involved if you just stay away?_ Bruce isn't that heartless, and he knows a jab like that could blow Tony off his feet.

"Oh Brucey, just in time! I need your opinion on this little baby I've been working on," Tony babbles, the master of deception and distraction, because he doesn't need another lecture on the working of his figurative heart.

"What is it?" Bruce asks warily and approaches the table, thinking it's some sort of god tracking device, and that Tony is obsessed.

"I was thinking if an engine could really work on vapors, so the expression goes. But trying to get a piece of machinery to run on gases is tricky, and I'm wondering if you have any suggestions," Tony gestures and points, and flails a little bit. He's feeling a little better already. Maybe social interaction can help alleviate depression. But he isn't experiencing depression, no siree.

He just wants a distraction.

So he and Bruce talk it over a little bit, and eventually Bruce convinces him to resurface and have dinner with the others. Tony agrees, but later remembers why he doesn't do social interaction after a situation like this.

Falsely dripping sympathy, and stares from everywhere.

He hates that kind of attention.

He can tolerate, even bask in hero worship or media frenzies. But not that kind of attention, where it makes him feel like he's the mental patient fresh out of the asylum, anyone care to help him?

He returns into society a little later, after a refreshing bath (he doesn't really like the grease and sweat sticking to him like some filthy second skin) and updates from JARVIS about the Avengers, tidbits he'd usually be enthused about because  _it's so awesome to have friends._ Funny how someone change another person's perspective.

_"Agents Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov have broken a new record on their endurances. Using several playthings, or toys, if you will, sir, they have reached 18 hours of orgasm denial."_ JARVIS informs him and he pulls a face. "Okay, JARVIS, never talk to me about Clint and Natasha's sex life ever again, understood?"

_"Of course, sir."_

And that's the end of that. No, not yet, he thinks, as Steve drops a plate in surprise of Tony's appearance in the common room. "What?" Tony grouses, feeling those damned eyes on him. "Can't a guy resurface from his lab every once in a while?"

"We thought you'd been buried under blueprints or something," Clint jokes weakly and Tony rolls his eyes. "Not in your dreams, Katniss. I'm far too smart to befall something stupid like that. Plus, JARVIS would fish me out, right, JARVIS?" JARVIS replies,  _"If I really must, sir."_ Tony makes a sound of indignation. "Of course you do that, JARVIS!" he reproaches his AI. "I did create you, you know. I'd unplug you if you let that happen to me." JARVIS replies,  _"But sir, you would be buried under a pile of blueprints and currently unable to attend to my 'unplugging'."_ Clint taunts, "Ooh, burn," and Tony thinks he's been hiding in his lab for too long.

-

Tony wonders why he's been so restless lately.

He's just survived the six-month mark of Loki leaving, or him making Loki leave.

He refuses to sleep, because he knows if he does, all he'll ever see is those eyes, green and eternal, brighter than an emerald, scratched and cut by past experiences.

He longs for tiny touches, cool fingers, and rolling around his bed at 3 am to fit exactly in those long arms.

He even misses the sex. Pupils dilated with lust, and needy groans dragging themselves out of sinful lips.

He misses the formal speech, the snarky comebacks, and the seductive curl of those lips, lips that would press and lick and twist against his for _hours._

He misses the stories, of galaxies and realms so breathtakingly beautiful they seem unreal. He misses the rants about Thor and  his "blasted hammer, I don't even know why the Allfather gave him the privilege when all he does is lug it around."

He craves the company, the challenge, the evermocking puzzle dancing in and out of his fingers.

He even begins to daydream of scenarios about Loki's return, and the hot make-up sex that follows.

He misses Loki and that shocks him.

He should be fine by now. Out of sight, out of mind.

Tony ponders a bit more, and he knows why. 

It's withdrawal.

He's known the feeling well. He's suffered more withdrawals than he cares to remember.

After having Loki for so long, and suddenly losing him, his body and mind is resisting the changes.

He swears sometimes that he can hear laughter, as he works in the lab. He would swear on a stack of Bibles that he did not imagine the moan that filled his room at 12:51 am, sounding like Loki after hours of fooling around.

He decides immediately that he doesn't like the feeling of withdrawal, and sets to bury it in work, himself and casual flings.

Except he can't bring himself to touch another person. He laughs bitterly, because he should've known. Of course the fucker would take a piece of him, not only his mind, his affections,  _his heart,_ but also his promiscuity. 

Work isn't much of a comfort, or a distraction when Tony's efforts prove fruitless, or perhaps, work for another day. He remembers there is nothing to distract himself about himself, and so he gives up.

He stops resisting the flood, and lets himself be swept away.

It all comes back to him, cornily enough, crystal clear.

Like they just happened yesterday.

He remembers Loki in the morning, breath smelling of coffee as his long fingers curl around a cup, and his long legs are tucked underneath him as he surveys New York through the countless windows.

Tony remembers the fondness, his constricting heart, and his dry throat, of eyes dried of tears, and lips pressed against each other desperately, hands scrambling for leverage in a mad scramble of dominance.

Afterwards, the first thing he does is to go and get piss drunk.

Steve finds him that way, sprawled haphazardly on the carpeted floor, drinking Scotch straight out of the bottle. He'd usually get it in a glass, but he remembers how he'd whine and get Loki to zap some ice for his drink and proved too much.

Steve sits down beside him.

"Hi thereeee," he slurs drunkenly.

"You've been drinking." Steve's voice books no arguments, and yet there is no dismay, no disapproval or disappointment. Only resignation.

"Oh no Captain Obvious. I've been sailing!" he manages a drunk, sloppily executed salute and tips over.

"Tony...."

And it's that voice again, the voice that doesn't know what to tell him, the voice trying to reason with him, trying to right his wrecked moral compass. Loki wrecked it  _ages ago._

Tony finds himself snarling at Steve. "Shut your mouth, Rogers. I don't want another talk on how I'm doing the right thing because it doesn't feel right! I'm not good at this self-sacrificing shit! You do this, not me. I'm selfish. I'm arrogant. I do whatever the fuck I want, whenever, wherever. You know why? Because I'm motherfucking Tony Stark!" He laughs hysterically and stops suddenly, staring somberly at the bottle, a little Scotch sloshing around at the bottle. "Ah, I'm almost out of liquor," he notes sadly and droops.

Steve makes the decision right then and there. "Tony, you have to let go of him. He can't keep poisoning you, can't keep you intoxicated with a spell or whatever.  _You've got to break free._ _"_ Tony barks out a laugh. "You think I haven't tried?" he sneers. "Think I haven't tried bashing him out of my skull, haven't tried scraping him off my skin? You don't know me at all!" he laughs mockingly. "Some team leader you are, Cap."

Steve's face pulls down. "I'm sorry Tony, I shouldn't have bothered. I should have known you're beyond repair." He stands up and slowly, calmly walks out the door and this infuriates Tony so much he's screaming. "Well good! I hope you remember that! I'm not perfect!  _I fuck up!_ HA!" And suddenly, he can't say anymore, because he knows Steve knows it's true. He's broken beyond repair, beyond salvation, beyond miracles. _  
_

All because he dropped on his knees to worship the green and gold god.

He howls, and throws the bottle at the wall. He screams, beating ineffectual fists at his windows, throwing things around until JARVIS tells him,  _"Sir, the other Avengers are concerned with you condition. What message would you like to tell them?"_ He howls, "Tell them to fuck off!" and throws the coffee table in the general direction of the door.

He wakes up the next day, nestled in debris, miraculously dropping on a clean portion of the floor.

He blinks against the morning light, and is about to tell JARVIS to tone down blinds when Loki appears in his vision, curling green smoke and a quiet puff around the man. He's pretty sure it's an illusion when Loki strides toward him, alarm evident on his face, falling on his knees next to Tony, murmuring, "Baby, what happened?"

Tony leans into the touch and replies, "Losing you is too hard to handle."


End file.
